The Spectre’s Little Game
It was one Chanuka night. His grandfather pretended he was going home; but when Archie clutched his coat-tails and rubbed up affectionately again his knees, he remained, grumbling.
"Tell, Seide, won't you?"
"About the Sambatyon and the stones, Seide!A story of the Sambatyon!"
"Little thieves! Always stories!" he protested. "And what kind; Sambatyon, angels, devils, princes and kings! How many have I told you, and yet you are not satisfied! Why, look at me! You wouldn't think I am a good story; but I am, a story on two legs, filled with snuff. You never bulldozed me to tell of myself, you little rabbits, you!"
But he sat down before the glowing fire, where mother was boiling the coffee after the Sabbath, and, drawing the children about him, hemmed and hawed and pretended he was considering what to tell. Mother stirred the dying embers and stuffed the stove with large pieces of wood that filled the room with a resinous smell. The children clung to him, now that he had promised, and the room was soon peopled with princes and hobgoblins and clay puppets, and, finally, with people no grander than his own grand self.
"Yes," he said, "I believe that only on the other side good stories are made. Near the place where Labke's father used to live, and where I had a blacksmith shop (that was about twenty years ago), many things happened that would make your eyes open. You should have seen me make the sparks fly. And when the children peeped in I would pretend to be angry and in a great hurry, and the sparks would fly faster and faster. And I would shoo them away, like this."
And he would shoo the children away, and they would laugh with a peculiar glee. Whenever grandfather came, father's sternness softened. The liberties they took with him as-
tonished them. As Joey remembers, he was strong until his dying day, and so cheerful and satisfied with death that they thought it a fine ending to a very good story. He was proud that he had never sought for help from his children; he had always paid his own way, and when he retired from business for good, he slowly consumed the little money he had accumulated, but never sought any favors. He was not learned as learning goes among Jews, and in the presence of the Rav, was very modest and reticent. But to the children he was no less than the greatest man in the city; for mv! he could tell fine stories!
Chanuka is the holiday which has none of the restraints of piety and none of the excesses of jollity which go with other holidays; it reflects the spirit of wintering indoors. You need not go to schul; there are no extra prayers; you need not fast; there is much to eat; but you thoroughly enjoy yourselves at home feeling that religion and sedate comfort go hand in hand together.
On Chanuka you basked in the glare of the parlor fire as you read a jolly book, cracking nuts; and when your father came home, red- faced and cold and warmed his hands before lighting the candles, there was such benign satisfaction in all his movements, that you felt glad that the Jews had a holiday “that was just as good as Christmas any day!” The little candles flickered coquettishly ; you fought with your brothers and sisters for the privilege of lighting one of them, and every evening, if you were very small and had older brothers and sisters, brought your “turn” nearer to apply the shammes to the lights.
Card-playing was a pious diversion, and if vour grandfather paid a visit and declared that he, too, would join the game (reckless of consequences), you knew that whatever the chances of the game, if you played for pennies or nuts, in the end you would not lose; for your grandfather was there to see to it.